I've been thinking about Thanksgiving as I pack away the decorations of Fall and feasting. And how I don't wish to perpetuate the myth of the Pilgrims and Native Americans that was popularized during the Great Depression. I questioned whether to put out on display the carved figurines to the left. Your typical, I suppose, Pilgrim couple holding symbols of the harvest. That we still see and accept this glossing over of what it was really like has come to feel like a distortion of history to me. Part of White European forgetfulness of the fact that Natives were pushed aside in favor of the doctrine called Manifest Destiny. Meaning that the plunder stopped primarily because the pioneering Caucasians ran into the Pacific Ocean. My point is, and I did have one, at least I think I did, is that I did take the Pilgrim figures out of their box. They sat amidst a number of turkeys and candles on the sideboard in the dining room. I'm attached to them. They belonged to a dear friend's mother and ended up in my possession after she died. So mostly, it's sentimental value. Next year they may very well stay in the box. I'm moving away from the Pilgrim myth in favor of celebrating Thanksgiving for its original meaning. One of gratitude for the many good things in my life. And like this year, most years actually, in the company of family and friends. Surrounded by love and warmth. A harvest celebration of the bounty and good fortune we enjoy. Sounds good to me.